The Prettiest Of Ideas
by bulletproofsince1999
Summary: Well, there's time and baddies, and JohnLock and suspected Mystrade. and there's bad language (even for Sherlock) and there's a little bit of sex. it's all there, who needs anything else?
1. Introduction

The Prettiest Of Ideas

Introduction

John wakes this morning with Sherlock sitting across from him_. What the hell happened that we passed out here? _Then he was starts to remember the whole of the bloody situation, literally. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but it was horrible enough…

Sherlock and John had been on some strange cases, but Sherlock had solved them in a snap, as always. But he kept complaining that something wasn't right, that something was _off. _John didn't know, but he figured that Sherlock was just being himself.

You know, the idiot that wants to make everything more complicated than it really is, because he needs _all the details and cold hard facts, not suspicions… _Ugh. So, John passed it off as Sherlock.

But then he didn't speak for days. He still went places and even followed John to work and study him and the place around him, but apparently he found nothing. He was looking for a sign of something. Then he did start speaking, or mumbling. Something about, "This is strange," or, "why is it so difficult to find…"

_The hell if he trying to find? And why is he using me to do it? God knows I'll never know. _So, again, John passed it off as Sherlock being some sort of form of himself and ignored everything he mumbled about.

But after a short while, he couldn't ignore it because he was mumbling John's name, and Mary's… then he addressed John directly, "John?"

John looked over his shoulder in the kitchen while Sherlock had settled in his chair, "Yes, Sherlock," he grumbled. He wasn't in the mood to be played with today.

"Mary left you, correct?" John tensed and just stared at the mop of curls that really just asked that. "John? I'm sorry, um, I take that as a yes, then?" John turned back to his tea and felt Sherlock behind him. "I really do apologize," said that deep voice that John's always loved.

He tingled when Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist, "Sherlock," he pulled out, "stop. I'm not-"

"That's what you want to keep telling yourself," Sherlock interrupted, a little irritated, but it wasn't showing. John wanted to protest, but Sherlock cut him off, "I deduced all that I could and I know what you say isn't true. You may not think you're gay, but I beg to differ."

"I'm attracted to women, Sherlock. Just shut up," he flopped down in his chair and glared at Sherlock.

"So, bisexual, then. Okay," he shrugged. "Never always right," he seemed to be angry at that.

"if this is trying to get me to 'fess up' you're out of luck, because there's nothing to say." _Well, there is, but I will not. It's wrong, even though I've begun to accept it. God, what do I do if he says he loves me, or I say it without thinking? That would definitely be bad._

"John, I'll have you know, that I consider myself married to my work," _okay, so. You said that before,_ "But as it seems, you've become part of my work," he stared at John for his reaction, "Therefore," he prompted.

John was dumbfounded. But he recovered, "You love those cases more than you'll ever love me," he said, not in self pity or telling Sherlock to love him, just a statement that was true. Or at least he thought it was.

"That's where you're wrong again," he moved from his chair to John's feet and his shoulders were in between John's knees, "I love you, John Watson. More than anything," he looked over the man in between his knees, and saw something he thought he'd never see.

His eyes seemed to be begging. He seemed, nervous? No, not Sherlock. But the signs are all there. He was even slightly shaking as he held onto John's thighs for support. "Sherlock Holmes, you never cease to amaze me," John finally smiled, "I love you, too," _shit. fuck, now he's going to expect something from me. and now everyone will be able to prove there's things going on… Fuck, why did I do this?_

"Good," _good? I've just doomed myself with sentiment. This is bad, but why does it feel good? _He climbed from the floor to John's lap and buried his head in John's neck and shoulder. John could feel him breathing and it was all out of whack.

John was used to this, but not with Sherlock, so he was a little nervous as well. he's never even been with a man. He's kissed a man before, but that was a dare and it was a long time ago. Would it even be the same? He had no idea.

Sherlock's lips looked soft to kiss, though. And Sherlock had long since deduced how John's would feel. Thin but soft and furtive, that was what he had predicted. But john had no idea what Sherlock would feel like besides cuddling.

They were both lost, but Sherlock knew more than John would ever know. Sherlock knows gay men and they've told him things whether he wanted to hear them or not, which was awkward, but hey. I guess now it could help. Well, not now, that can wait, but Sherlock had to do something to finalize this.

Sherlock sat up and looked into John's eyes as if to question whether this was a good idea or if they should just forget it ever happened and go on. John smirked at the fact that he confused the most intelligent person on earth.

Sherlock tried to smile, but he was too nervous. He's kissed people before, but not ones he actually like or loved. And he's never explored sex. He was caught up in his own thoughts when John's hand went to the back of his neck and pressed their foreheads together.

His curls tickled John's eyebrows and he just kept looking up at Sherlock, "Are you sure you actually want anything of me?" John questioned.

"I want all of you, but not right now. I want you to kiss me, but I don't know how to do this. I've kissed people before but not someone I actually loved," he admitted and seemed ashamed.

"You've proposed and not even loved the person, Sherlock. There's a lot you won't do for a case. But if you really want-" he cut himself off by just grabbing this man's face in his hands and bringing their lips together slow enough that it made it so soft.

Sherlock registered what was happening and he couldn't help the small moan he let go when John's lips were better than he imagined. His breath was caught and everything. but he noticed that John was breathless as well.

When they broke they were breathing heavily, trying to steal back the taken breath. They smiled and Sherlock settled on John's shoulders again, blushing like crazy. John just had a huge sloppy grin painting his face and he wouldn't have had that any other way.

* * *

**I know, not much but JohnLock. but I had to establish that before anything else. everything else would fall apart if I hadn't. This whole story will be amazing, though. So, reviews? Anyone?**


	2. One

One

John was dreaming again, well sleeping. He was having nightmares. Sherlock could hear his whimpers all the way across the flat from his room behind the kitchen. So he climbed the stairs to John's bedroom and opened the door as John rolled over and clutched the covers, "Sherlock," he heard the word slip and he scolded himself.

He then hurriedly closed the door and climbed in after his blond, only in his pants, and he grabbed John by the waist, and hoped he would wake up and come back to Sherlock so that he could tell him it was okay, and that he was safe, that Sherlock would never leave.

John lurched from the pillows as his eyes flew open, wide and afraid, and he latched onto Sherlock, sobbing and shaking and a complete wreck. Sherlock soothed him and John just sobbed as the light poked through the curtains on his window. Sherlock comforted him until he felt the tears stop and John was just staring at his hands in between his and Sherlock's chests.

"How did you get in my bed?" John questioned.

"I could hear you from across the flat, John. I couldn't stand it," he admitted. John just looked up and said sorry as he buried his face in Sherlock's chest again, embarrassed that his nightmares were waking people, "I was already awake, trying to go back to sleep. But I heard you and decided to help."

"Do I have to tell you about it?" he complained and huffed. Sherlock shook his head and brought the blond's eyes to where he could look into them.

"Not unless you want to," he promised. John nodded, his expression full of angst yet happiness. Sherlock was there, and he wouldn't leave. He was always going to be there, and that won't change. "Breakfast?" Sherlock asked and John gave him a bewildered look and just raised one eyebrow. "What? I can cook, I just don't," he rolled his eyes and pulled out of bed as John was drug behind him.

They were both in their pants, as they liked to sleep. Sherlock usually sleeps naked, but since John and he were together, he felt self conscious. He knew John would understand, but he didn't care. John wrapped his robe around himself and Sherlock did the same when they reached the kitchen.

He plopped down in the chair and Sherlock almost literally ran around the kitchen pulling things together. John just watched as he listed the things he didn't do, and the things that were strange that he did do. It was definitely weird watching him cook, but John didn't complain as he enjoyed the product.

"Cooking is chemistry, John, it's easy," Sherlock smirked through a bite of his own food.

"Oh, you eat when it's your food," John complained as another bite was taken.

"That's because I like my food. Yours is okay," he shrugged, "but I love mine," he beamed. He was doing this on purpose. "Plus, there's no case yet, so I'm good." He rolled his shoulders and threw his dishes in the sink as John followed.

Sherlock flopped down on the couch to let things settle and John sat beside him, his legs crossed and his elbow landing on his knee to think about some irrelevant things. Sherlock pushed him to sit back and his legs were pushed apart as he laid his curls down on John's thigh.

He tickled, but John stroked his curls anyway, smiling at the detective with steepled fingers under his chin.

* * *

John's head was slumped forward and Sherlock had sunk into the couch as a ringing woke them from their dozing. It was Sherlock's cell. He complained in grumbles as he shuffled through the flat and dug through his trousers as at the last minute he caught his brother calling.

"What?" he asked simply.

"I need you to test a theory for me. It'll be here, in my home, might hurt, and it'll be strange, but I suspect that you'll help just with the fact that it's strange."

"Why would I bother?" Sherlock asked, a little annoyed he wasn't in John's lap.

"Because it, according to my scientists, is a very interesting experience for one like yourself, little brother. Would you like to try it?" he was hinting to the drug use, and Sherlock ignored that.

"What is 'it'?" he shifted to one foot, which made his hips sway and John blushed when he saw that.

"Interesting, just help. I know you want to," he taunted and Sherlock could hear the prompting smile in his voice. He sighed.

"If you really think it will help, I'll be there," he gave in to his curiosity.

"Excellent," he sounded smug, "I'll send a car," and he hung up. _Ugh, Mycroft is so mysterious it kills me, oh, I hope not again. Haha, never mind. _John heard him chuckle and stepped into the mess that Sherlock called his room.

"Brother?" he asked and Sherlock confirmed it with a nod. "Should I get dressed, then?" he asked and Sherlock gave another nod.

John shuffled to his room, still a little tired and he pulled on trousers and a flannel that he tucked into it and his favorite jumper over it all. He slipped on his shoes and sat in the main room as Sherlock came out, ruffling his curls as he yawned and buttoned his trousers around his purple flannel.

John's never seen him do that. He at first gave it a look of bewilderment, then passed it off as another thing he'll have to get used to, he guesses. Then John had an idea, and he ran back to his room to grab the contraption he had bought while Sherlock was gone.

He turned it on and it had that stupid apple symbol as it loaded his home screen which was now a picture of Sherlock he had stolen a while back when Sherlock wasn't looking and concentrating on some case. He smirked at that and flipped through his music.

"Since when did you have an IPod? That's ludicrous and unnecessary," he sneered as the music was flipped on and headphones were being pulled out of his pocket, and Sherlock made him stop, "Wait, what is that? Who is that?"

The beat was unfamiliar, yet he liked it. "Oh, it's someone you wouldn't care to know," and the headphones were plugged in and Sherlock just gave him a look of disbelief. He sighed, "If you really want to know, they're a heavy metal band, Disturbed. You know, like me," and he was consumed in the music on his device again.

"But that song didn't sound too bad," he admitted as he grabbed his coat and headed out the door as John followed behind, shoving the electronic in his pocket and glancing at the cane at his chair's side. He laughed at it as he left.

They climbed into the car that Sherlock had gotten so used to now, "Hello Anthea," he greeted and she nodded in his direction as a greeting. John climbed in after him and took his hand, and they laced their fingers together as Anthea grinned and just went with it, typing away.

Sherlock knew she could see that they were holding hands. She wasn't one of the ones that believed they were in a relationship, but now that it was obvious, she thought it was cute. But she kept things to herself, as usual and just kept typing.

Sherlock leaned into John as he leaned back and they both had small smiles playing their lips and they didn't care who saw it. Before they left to the house they knew so well now, they heard Anthea finally say something, "You two are cute," she smiled and Sherlock slammed the door.

She had a smug smile as they walked into the mansion like that, attached at the hip and never letting go, no matter what. John still had his music invading one ear, but he could hear perfectly fine out of the one when Sherlock ripped the door open and there was Mycroft sitting in the main room, with his umbrella twirling by his side.

"Usually I don't bring work home, but I had to this time. It's too precious to put it anywhere else." And he lead them back the hall to his neat room and John had to chuckle at the fact that Sherlock was completely the opposite.

"Tell me what I'm into before I do this, "Sherlock demanded. Mycroft was quiet as he dug a bottle of what looked like lotion from his drawer and John was confused. Sherlock was as well.

He dipped some on his fingers and beckoned Sherlock closer as he pressed his fingers to Sherlock's forehead, "How's that feel?" he asked, almost as if he was unsure. But then Sherlock fell to his knees and Mycroft pulled him onto the bed as he passed out.

Sherlock turned pale, deathly pale, more so than he was already, and John was about to go to his side, but Mycroft pushed him away. It stayed like this for about five minute before Mycroft made John wake him up from the dream, or so it seemed to be a dream.

He popped up, wide eyed and angry, "What was that?! What did you do to me?!" he was flushed and breathing a little heavily. John was so confused as Sherlock was thoroughly pissed that his brother did that to him. He didn't know what 'that' was, but it really sucked, because now he had that memory running through his head uncontrollably as he buried into his mind palace to put it back.

John was dumbfounded as Mycroft began to explain what he had just done and Sherlock was pouting, until he heard his elder explain...

* * *

**I'm evil. I left it hanging. But I do hope you review anyway... tell me what you think it could have been. 3:) **


	3. Two

Two

John let the words sink in as Sherlock just sat on the edge of the big bed and wondered how Mycroft's people had even thought of this. "And in conclusion, you travelled back in time, but it was more of reliving a memory than anything."

"So, you just sent me back in time, why? What significance is there to that?!" he was frustrated as he tried to stand, but fell to his ass. John helped him to his feet and he staggered, "Now look! My feet won't bloody work!" he complained as John held tight to him.

"For that, I am sorry, dear brother, but this was for a good cause. John, if you would take your complaining lover home," and he turned and walked out the door. _Great, so now he knows. Fuck this sodding shit.._

John sighed and picked Sherlock up in a princess hold as he marched out of the house and to the street where they got a cab. Sherlock recited their address as John sat down and Sherlock hadn't pulled out of his lap. John motioned for him to move, but all he did was cross his arms and shake his curls 'no'.

John rolled his eyes, but nuzzled his neck and kissed it before he sat back and Sherlock cuddled into him. "Sherlock, what happened that you were so pissed?" code for: what did he make you go back to.

Line Break

_Sherlock fell to his knees as he ran through his mind palace frantically trying to find a memory to go back to, finally he found one and it was pleasant, but a distraction._

_He was sitting on John again, and there was the kiss, and John had no idea how many bloody emotions were going through his head and spreading throughout his body, and he hated it, but he loved John. It was so strange that he was flushed and he wasn't breathing right._

_Luckily, before he had to move, he had himself under control and he wasn't as bad when John had moved him to eat and eventually go to bed. _

Line Break

"Why was that so bad?" John asked after Sherlock had told him about the memory.

"Sentiment is a chemical defect on the losing side," he declared and John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock. "What? You think I just accept the fact that what's going on right now, shouldn't? I like it, yes, but it's going to get in the way later and we both know it," but he just cuddled again, and John was a bit peeved, but he could understand where Sherlock was coming from.

"Well, um. I'm sorry?" he tried.

Sherlock's curls rose and tickled John's ear as he said, "Don't be sorry for something you had no part in. you didn't mean to make me love you. you're just John and I love John, not someone you try to be to please me." John smiled and probably blushed, he didn't know.

Then they remembered that this was all said and done in a cab, when it stopped and John paid because Sherlock hopped out before he had to. The door to the flat was open and John closed it as two coats were hung and they started up the stairs.

But John tugged at Sherlock wrist, making him fall into John, "What are you doing?" he asked, knowing full well what was going on.

"Just," and his chin was tilted for easy access as John lips played with Sherlock's and he didn't protest as he joined him. Eventually, he stood up to be the taller one again and took John in his arms as John's teeth played with Sherlock's bottom lip. _Perfect soft and full and fluffy, God, it's so… mmmm… _

Sherlock's lips parted just a little and both of them took advantage and their tongues met in the middle, trying to get to the final destination, but they caught each other and they weren't letting go.

It was a little different this time, though. There was something about this kiss that screamed that they wanted more, but not all of it, not just yet. When they finally parted for air, John laughed, "You can stand now, can't you?"

Sherlock looked down at himself and the blond standing on the stairs, "Guess so," and he scooped John into a hold that made Sherlock fall to the floor under him, seeing as they were standing on the last two stairs to the top.

John straddled his hips and never let go as kisses were given and moans were received when hands started doing things as well. But every time John tried to remove Sherlock's shirt, he swatted his hands away and just continued the kissing.

John quit trying and just bent over Sherlock as his wrists were pinned to the carpet under them. they both had wicked sloppy grins as John felt vibrating in Sherlock's pocket. They then sighed as they sat up and Sherlock pulled it from his pocket and there was a text.

_So he did change it from the sigh, or whatever the hell that was. _From Lestrade: **Get your asses over here: York St. by St. Mary's Church. Now. **

Sherlock sighed and as he picked himself up from the floor and John followed, John noticed that his curls were out of place from a certain somebody's fingers. They grabbed their coats and Sherlock didn't bother with putting the suit jacket on again.

They marched out the door and Sherlock hailed in about five seconds. John didn't know how he did that, maybe cause he's Sherlock bloody Holmes. But who knows, because John wasn't complaining as they slid in the seat together.

Sherlock left barely any room for John as he heard his lover recite the texted address, and he just sat, not doing anything but holding out his hand. John was confused at first, but when they locked fingers, he knew that was what Sherlock was going for.

John's hands were small compared to Sherlock's. Almost there, but not quite reaching the size of Sherlock's, and it showed, badly. But he didn't care, beside, someday, Sherlock's going to need his small hands. Then again, Sherlock needs him now anyway, all of him.

John noticed that Sherlock's hair was still out of order, and he plucked at the curls, getting them to settle once again, and John was satisfied. Usually he would have complained at people messing with his hair, but it was John. Therefore, it didn't matter what he was doing, he was John and Sherlock would love him for that alone.

They jumped out as John was left to pay, again and Sherlock was eager to get to the body. But when he looked down, he was a little confused. Ha, Sherlock is confused. That happens once in a lifetime. His eyes widened and narrowed as he moved all around the man on his back, just dead.

He didn't even look dead. He was for sure, but he didn't look as though he had died. "When?" Sherlock asked.

"Few hours ago, got a call from a young woman crying and sputtering out words that I could barely understand until I got here. She's in for questioning, but you can talk to her later if you wish," he said.

"That's fine," he waved his hands as if to shoo away his words. Then he kneeled in front of the man, and it looked a little weird, but he had that _stupid_ magnifying glass, that was so small anyone would suspect it to be something else.

He searched, but he found almost nothing. Almost…

* * *

**I love leaving things hanging. but the next chapter will be up soon enough. For now, reviews? **


	4. Three

Three

"John, come look at this," he mumbled as he let his lover look through the glass. John realized what he was looking at, "I don't think my brother would let this happen," and as Sherlock stood, he started to try to piece some things together. "I'll text if I get anything," he said to Lestrade, "For now, just do whatever you do after I leave." And they were on the streets again, John looking for a cab.

John hailed a car after a few minutes because Sherlock was too busy thinking about the goo they found on the man's forehead to even care. He could sit out here all day and not care that he was freezing his ass off, he would just sit there and think.

John drug him into the cab as he recited the address and they were off. Sherlock shoved his hands in his coat pockets and huddled into himself, just thinking. John let it be, as he came up with a few theories of his own.

Someone could have stolen it from Mycroft. Or they could have paid one of his men to give them some. Or they could be one of Mycroft's men themselves. Or Mycroft could be dead or unconscious, but no one would risk that with him, he has too much power for that.

And John also had a feeling that all his theories were wrong and that Sherlock had a better one tucked away somewhere and he wasn't sharing. He would eventually, but for now, John was spouting off ideas that probably wouldn't even work, but he thought of them nonetheless.

They walked out o the cab as Sherlock paid this time and John was shocked, but recovered as the door to their flat was opened and they spilled through. Sherlock didn't even take his coat off, John had to rip it off of him to get him to stop and come back to earth, "Hi, John," he smiled briefly.

"Fucking finally," John muttered and Sherlock caught that and smirked as he ascended the stairs. (He liked the top of them now.) John followed but when Sherlock plopped in his chair, he went on to his room. He slipped off his shoes and sat on his bed, to just think about this case.

He also needed to get away from Sherlock for a little. It sounded weird, but he did. Great, now that Sherlock was on his mind, he wished he would just come up here and accompany him. John may escape his physical form, but Sherlock will always be on his mind.

He tried music, but it just reminded him of the man sitting in their living room. He rolled his eyes at himself and was about to go to Sherlock. But he didn't need to when Sherlock was already in the doorway, "John," he leaned on the frame, "I solved it, but…"

"But, what? Sherlock," he sighed and laid down on the pillows, his jumper long gone. It had been too hot.

"But this theory makes little sense."

"Well, rule out the impossibilities and whatever is left, no matter how improbable, must be true," Sherlock had repeated with John, "I know, it's just," John raised an eyebrow expectantly at him. "I can't think straight, and I don't know if really is logical or if my brain says it is bec- never mind. You don't need to know, it would ruin things completely." He flattened his lips and turned to go away.

John caught his elbow and almost fell on his face getting up off the bed, "Sherlock, tell me," he tried to be soothing, but it came out as if he wanted an answer and if Sherlock didn't give one… well.

"Because I want to get through it quicker so that I can be with you. You see why sentiment is not a good thing?" he seemed to be irritated and pulled away as John followed him to the main room, the music in his ear had dropped to the floor of his room as he descended the stairs.

"Sherlock, don't," and he was already down the stair to the front door. "Sherlock!" he grabbed his arm before the door could be closed behind him. "Don't you dare walk out on this," he growled and Sherlock was shocked.

He slowly walked back in and put his coat back as John grabbed him in an embrace that was meant to make him stay. To make him sort this out instead of running from it. Then Sherlock realized what he was doing and he held John back. He wasn't running from emotions, he had done that once before and look where it got him.

No, this was going to be handled now and if it wasn't, this would probably end worse than if it was run from. This would end in another fall if it wasn't dealt with. Sherlock still blamed himself for everything that had happened between John and him, and between John and Mary.

This all started the day he asked for a flatmate. If he hadn't, he would never have met John and maybe he would have been happier. "John, I'm sorry," he said and realized he had to choke that out. Why was he barely able to speak? What was- _drip. Drop, drip drop… what? Oh, for God sakes… _

He was crying, on John. He was crying and John was here to see it, here to feel it. God damn it. "Sherlock, it's not your fault. It never was, I don't know where you get that from, but do you not realize how many times you have made me happy? Happier than anyone else could make me…"

"No," he whispered as his curls tickled John's neck and Sherlock sunk to his knees. He buried his face in John's flannel and tears fell onto the floor as well as John. His lover ran his fingers through his curls and this time, it did nothing to calm him.

He choked out sobs as John kneeled to meet him, and held him again. "Yes," John contradicted, a few tears of his own spilling. But he kept it to himself.

"No," Sherlock shook his head, "how could so many deaths, including my own, make you happy, John?" he shivered.

"It wasn't the action, it was the genius behind it. Knowing you still cared for me even if you were gone. Even if you were hurt," John soothed. "I love you, and that will never change."

Sherlock tried to respond, tried to say he loved John as well, but the tears flowing stopped him from doing anything but letting them fall. His face was flushed and his eyes were as red as John's pants and he didn't care. He had John in his arms, caring for him no matter what and this made him happy and guilty that he was happy with something he stole.

That was what made him do this, this crying thing he despised. The fact that through all of this, he took John from the life he was supposed to have and threw him into a life of crime and death and hate. But what Sherlock didn't realize was the fact that John also had love.

He was lonely before, but now Sherlock was here, he loved John and that was what made John stay. John would have left. Oh, hell yes. He would have left Sherlock alone if all he wanted was to continue the detective work. But do you know why he stayed? Because they continued everything, not just the cases, but the spark of love and passion had grown into a wildfire that was barely uncontrollable.

But here they were, the boys of Baker Street, holding this flame in the palms of their hands and taming it as if they were its master. As if they only thing they had was that fire and they had to keep it tame or it would run away and never be found again, only to burn down the forests of William Sherlock Scott Holmes and John Hamish Watson.

The tears did eventually clear and the raging fire that had been emotions was tamed and in Sherlock's heart as John still clutched to Sherlock. He wasn't sure if Sherlock wanted to let go or wanted to stay here. But John's shoulder was soaked and Sherlock face was redder than an apple.

John smiled as his lips landed on Sherlock, and he could taste the salt he hadn't cleared from his face yet. John pulled his sleeve over his thumb and wiped the tears from his partner's face as he leaned into that hand and almost cried again.

"Soldiers," Sherlock smiled, "always help, even if it isn't deserved." He padded John's cheek and John leaned into the touch as Sherlock's hands engulfed John face and their lips were smooshed together again.

"You," kiss, "do deserve," kiss, "everything," kiss, "I can give," and he moaned when Sherlock pushed them together. On the floor, chest to ankles, all of them was pressed together and both of them had moans vibrating from their chests to their tongues where it bounced off their lovers'.

This confused them both just a little. They were just touchy feely and now they were groping instead of touching. John had a hold of Sherlock's bum and the other hand was in his curls, ripping his head back and exposing his neck.

He moaned when a love bite was placed on his throat and John was encouraged to keep kissing down to the nape of his neck, and his shoulders were hidden by that damned shirt. The purple was John's favorite, but now it was annoying.

But he didn't rip anything off of anyone as he felt Sherlock shiver and there was a vibration in Sherlock's pocket, again. _Every fucking time… I give up. _

John was straddled as the phone was answered. He liked being under Sherlock like this. He snapped at the person on the other side, "I'm busy," and was about to hang up but didn't as that voice stopped him.

His eyes widened as he heard, "Surely you can't be too busy for me." That voice, that pretty one. Why was it so familiar? It wasn't his brother. Wasn't Lestrade or Molly or Irene. Couldn't have been Moriarty. So then why was this so familiar?

There was something about this voice that made him shiver, yet he was attracted to whatever she had to say. Yes, she. This voice was someone familiar. So much so that he was having trouble making sure it was her…

* * *

**I'll just keep leaving things open unless someone drops me a review on what they think so far... :/ 0.o **


	5. Four

Four

Sherlock shoved the phone to John's ear and he thought he was being deceived, "Sherlock, if this is some kind of joke, I swear-" and her voice cut him off.

"It's not a joke, love," her accent was very American, but it was definitely Mary.

"Don't call me that," he snapped.

"Oh, that is right, I broke your heart and you were about to mend it with filling it with him, weren't you?" she seemed smug. Why was she so proud of herself?

"I don't think that's any of your business anymore," John spat. She chuckled and he shoved the phone back in Sherlock's hand as he wiggled out from under him, the fire gone and the heat leaving this very moment.

He stalked to his room as Sherlock finished the phone call, "Thanks, now he's brooding. What's your goal with this? Obviously, it's not to insult my lover," he pointed.

"You are quite correct, it's to inform you that your killer can't be found anymore. He's not even in your time period." And she hung up. _Of course! He used it on someone to see if it would work, then left them. But then how did he get all of him to travel? Did he use more of it? Did he use something else?_

Ugh, this didn't solve anything, it just made more questions! He was flustered and marched into John's room with a passion and flopped down on the blond brooding man. "Stop being an arse and kiss me," he demanded.

John was so shocked all he could do was stare with a slightly open mouth. Which Sherlock took advantage of and his lips touched the blond's as his tongue tasted John. He reacted and kissed back, still surprised that Sherlock demanded such a thing.

But then he was grabbing at John, and anything worked as he squeezed gently and John jumped inside of a moan, "Sherlock, stop it," he giggled and Sherlock was laying on top of him.

"No," he growled and grinned as his teeth were against John's neck and they were both making noises, from moans to whimpers. All of them was glued together and even if John tried, Sherlock wasn't moving. He wanted to stay close, and he still wasn't close enough.

His fingers threaded through John's hair and his legs in between John's was how Mrs. Hudson found them, "John, I wanted… oh! Um, maybe later," and she was a scarlet red when she left.

Sherlock chuckled as he knew she would hear this, "Oh God, Sherlock!" he had squeezed harder (this time, his hand in John's pants) and they heard the door shut and Sherlock had a smug smile on his face. his hand came out and John just realized that Sherlock had worked the button to his trousers open, "How- never mind." And he brought his lover down for more kisses.

Sherlock decided he liked the way John felt in his hands and he scaled the blogger's chest with his fingers spread wide, getting more, needing more. Sherlock decide to waste no time with unbuttoning all of the buttons, instead he unbuttoned a few at the top and pulled it over John's head.

It landed on the floor as John opened a few of Sherlock's buttons and pulled the shirt back to kiss the skin exposed. Sherlock shivered as he continued with John and his trousers. John's hand on Sherlock's arse became harder in its grip and Sherlock's jumped, rubbing them together.

Moans escaped their lips as both of their trousers were on the floor and Sherlock's shirt followed. They kicked off their socks and only their pants stopped them from being completely naked on one another. Sherlock was then very disappointed when his phone rang, again!

He growled when he ripped himself from John and went through his trousers to find his cellular, and answered, "What?!"

It was Mycroft, thankfully, "Your busy? Oh, well, I guess I can call later if you wish?"

"That would be extremely fantastic," and he switched it off. His phone hit the floor a moment after he was on John again. John had been curious, but now he was consumed by Sherlock again. Now he could feel that Sherlock breathing was anything but normal.

He liked this, because their situation was affecting him like this as well. It was a little funny, though, because Sherlock more messed up than John, and he was in control. His heart was beating out of his chest and his pupils were blown wide, "Have you ever even done this before?" John had to ask through kisses. He could literally see Sherlock's pulse jump through his neck.

"No," Sherlock replied simply and the lips trailed his neck and his chest and left a love mark on his hips before teasing with licks above the band of his pants. He pulled them down agonizingly slow and out popped Little John. Although, he wasn't really little. Sherlock had deduced before that he was larger than average, but… this was amazing.

He was a little tanned, but not as much as his arms and neck, and it was so smooth Sherlock just had to stroke it with his fingers, making John moan. His fingers landed on John's bollocks and then floated away as his lips went back to John's.

The felt of Sherlock's pants rubbed against John and he was reminded that Sherlock still had pants that were hiding him. He pulled them off and they landed on the floor, unlike John's that just stayed at the end of the bed.

John started kissing and licking and biting his way down, down, down. Sherlock moaned when John left a love mark on his thigh. So close…

John observed the beauty of the shaking man still on top of him, his back arching as torturous kisses were put anywhere except Sherlock's member. John chuckled as he scaled the pale shaft in front of him with his lips, and on the other side he went up with his tongue and that made Sherlock crazy.

This was unlike any feeling Sherlock's ever had the pleasure of feeling before. He slammed John on the pillows again and pinned him there as their lips met again and again, and they tasted one another and it was sensational. So much so that they could feel each other's vibrations from the moans.

Sherlock's fingers traced John's lips as his own trailed down again, this time faster, and fewer kisses were planted. John took the liberty of taking Sherlock's digits in his mouth, wondering what they'd taste like.

Right now, they tasted like the rest of Sherlock, but catch him after an experiment and he was sure they'd taste like something else entirely. But now Sherlock's fingers were soaked in John's saliva. He would have wiped it off, but he had an idea. _Looks like having awkward gay best friends in high school was worth it… they'd tell me everything, and it was a little disturbing, but oh well. They were good friends, at least. Anyway…_

His thoughts were a short distraction until his wet digits were inside John. One at a time, so that it didn't hurt him; that was the last thing Sherlock wanted. John hips lurched from the covers as a moan was deep and heard just as loudly.

Sherlock grinned against the skin he had in his mouth. He moved from the love marks to John's aching member. Which he slid in his mouth and tasted him even more. He was so sweet, almost like honey. Sherlock was aching as well, but he could wait. John needed this; he spent so much time caring for someone else, now he's being taken care of.

Sherlock didn't know, but before he pulled his fingers out, he had brushed over John's prostate and that made John a little dizzy. He was taking in all this pleasure at once and it was intoxicating. He literally felt drunk, he could barely speak as he whispered, "Sherlock, I need… you…"

"You need me? Where?" he teased as John moaned. He knew what John was getting at, but he wanted him to say it.

"Sherlock," he said quietly, and Sherlock looked into the eyes of his lover, "Fuck me now or I turn the tables." Sherlock snaked up back on top of his soldier, his hips settling in between John's thighs.

"Would you?" John raised an eyebrow at him, which was knitted with the other as Sherlock pushed himself into his little blond. John sighed in satisfaction to the resolution he demanded. This was a different feeling, _oh fuck yes_, but it was a nice feeling. He was full of his detective and it felt so _damn _good.

John was dripping pre-ejaculate when Sherlock pulled slightly and pushed back in slowly, and brushed over John's prostate again with grace. Sherlock always moved with grace, and John loved it. When John yelped, Sherlock grinned and pushed harder and faster with each thrust and eventually they were both howling each other's names as they panted and moaned in pleasure.

John's thighs had a death grip on Sherlock's hips as Sherlock came but John was left behind. Almost there, but not yet. Sherlock thrust a few more times, and with those thrusts he timed a few pumps. He was leaking profusely, but hadn't had an orgasm yet.

Sherlock pulled off as John would have finished, but his lover removed his hands and took John in his mouth again. This time he engulfed the blond as if it was nothing. John was surprised and it felt so good having Sherlock's tongue on him, his teeth torturing the base of his length.

John gave up and his hand was buried in Sherlock's curls to try to pull him off, but he persisted until John came and was shaking so hard he could have sworn he'd pass out, even his vision was blurred. But he didn't, and Sherlock plopped himself beside John, his breath battling to find balance as John barely even had his.

But Sherlock was pulling him from the bed and taking his blond to the bathroom where water was switched on and he pulled John in and held him in a pose that could be used in dance. John blushed as Sherlock reached for the soap and started to clean him.

He looked down at Sherlock's fingers wrapped around the bar of soap as it was on his groin. That was when he noticed he could do with a trim, but Sherlock was cut short. _Was he expecting this?_ John had no clue. Maybe he just did that so it didn't get in the way..?

John shrugged mentally as Sherlock confirmed, "When was the last time you cut it?" John laughed and shook his head. "What? I do mine ever other day. It gets in the way if I don't."

"It's been almost a week, why? I wasn't exactly expecting… you know," he blushed as he ran his fingers through his now soaked blond hair. Even when wet, it was light. Sherlock's hung in his face as he whipped it from his eyes, and not with his fingers.

John gawked at this movement, "You just, since when do you do that?" he messed with Sherlock's curls.

"When my hair gets longer than it should, you've never seen me do it?" he tilted his head in confusion at his blond. John shrugged and swiped the soap. "Hey! I wasn't done with that," Sherlock reached.

"Yes, you were. It's my turn, now," he grinned. Sherlock pouted as John repeated what was done to him. Sherlock rolled his eyes as John finished and shampoo was dumped in his curls. John giggled when he spread it about and his hair looked soapy.

Sherlock returned the favor and childishly spiked John's getting longer hair. He rubbed it out as Sherlock shook the soap from his hair. It was all over John now and he screamed out giggles. This shower by far the best, but the weirdest they'd ever had.

John enjoyed being naked without being self conscious about his wound, but when Sherlock stared, he began to twitch in nervousness. Sherlock traced the outline of the bullet and kissed it as if he wanted it to vacate the skin that was John. But even the scar made him look perfect.

At least to Sherlock, anyway. no one could make him look imperfect. _Even his imperfections make him perfect…_

* * *

**Sorry, that came out a lot sexual... I didn't mean to. I guess now I have to make up for the lost time in the next chapter. But, reviews? **


	6. Five

Five

They had redressed now, it was early in the evening, only 4:00, as Sherlock called his brother as if nothing had happened. Their hair was still a little damp, and John observed the drop of water that fell from Sherlock's curls and onto his long pale fingers.

They still could make him stare, good. He never wanted to be bored with Sherlock. It'd be horrible if he had discovered that what he felt for Sherlock was only an infatuation for a special moment. No, this was going to last for a long time, hopefully until the day they die, but who knows? It could end like all of John's relationships lately.

Although, this one was with Sherlock himself, so why would he want to ruin anything? John still had his suspicions that Sherlock was only doing this to get something. Or maybe it could be an experiment.

"It's not what you keep thinking, John. I wouldn't be that cruel," he admitted when John noticed the call had ended.

"You tease Molly with it," he pointed out, knowing what he was talking about, because he had been thinking about it.

"Not with sex and love, it's just flirting. What we have is different," he promised as he made John hurry out the door. "Now that that's all done, we have an intriguing case to do with time travel, and I wouldn't miss this for almost anything," he admitted as they were pushed out the door into the chilly evening air.

"Almost?" John was confused, "You love cases, what could you possibly do that would be better?" John asked.

As they climbed into Mycroft's car again, he said, "You," and John was pulled in from the sidewalk.

John blushed as Anthea caught all of that and she smiled briefly before typing away again. Then she did something no one had seen her do before. She tucked away her cell and sat quietly, watching the streets float by as they were headed to the destination that John didn't quite like, but Sherlock literally pulled him to it.

John had been tired after shagging Sherlock Holmes, and the shower woke him up, but he was still a little groggy as Sherlock pulled him by the wrist into the mansion he now somewhat despised. "Sherlock, I am a grown man, stop dragging me along as if I'm a child," he complained.

"Then start walking as if you're a grown man, and let's go," he demanded as he let go. John entwined their fingers as they stepped through the threshold of Mycroft's home, surprisingly, Anthea had followed, a small smile playing her lips as she greeted her boss.

She was so beautiful, even when she was texting, it was amazing and John was glad he had Sherlock, because that would have been a one night stand gone completely wrong. But it didn't mean he couldn't admire her beauty.

Sherlock seemed to ignore it, as his bluish grey eyes settled on his brother, excited. Mycroft finally spoke as he stood, twirling his umbrella, "As you know, the murdered man was not my doing. He had been used for a time jump. Someone out there figured out to transport themselves by using the… goo, and take a human life as well. I need Sherlock to stop them," he seemed to be asking John for permission to use his lover.

John nodded, "But then how will Sherlock get there?" John asked, the answer obvious, but who would they use?

"That's the thing, John. If two people go back together, their lives can be spared if they come back to the present within an hour. If you and Sherlock go, we could do this properly. The only problem is knowing where this person put themselves."

Mycroft seemed annoyed that he had no leads, but Sherlock was a little nervous, "You want to knock me out again?"

Mycroft nodded, "We want you to return to a time when you and John were preferably alone together, so no one suspects anything if you disappear for an hour, that is when you get to the past, but you know what I mean. And if you don't cooperate, Anthea goes back with John, not you." Anthea smiled wider, she would like that.

Sherlock then thought about all the times that John and he had been alone together and gave up, just saying, "Please tell me I get to choose which moment I get to go back to," he demanded. Mycroft nodded, and both the detective and the doctor let out a breath they hadn't realized they'd been holding.

"If you think about it at the moment, you'll appear there, of course you'll have to remember that you're in the past, which will be difficult, but not impossible," Mycroft explained.

"You say these things as if you've used it on yourself," John accused.

Mycroft nodded shortly, "I have, and I know how to remember, it's difficult the first time, but afterwards, it's fine. Sherlock will have to help you, but he'll be able to use his mind palace, or whatever he calls it," he seemed annoyed with the name, _Such a childish name for a great piece of his gifted mind. _

John was wondering why Mycroft had used it more than once, but Sherlock rolled his eyes as John shrugged, "So, when do we do this?" John asked, anxious to just get it over with so that he can go home and sleep.

"When we figure out where and who the killer is," Mycroft confirmed, again, hating not having anything.

"Wait, John?" John looked expectantly to his lover, "When Mary called it was almost as if she knew who was jumping through time. Does she know anyone who could be a serial killer or potentially?"

"Not that I know of," John admitted. Sherlock's eyes hit the floor as they closed completely as he tried to piece all of these things together. His hair flopped over his eyes and it made him look as though he fell asleep while standing. But, with him, he might as well have fallen asleep standing.

"No," his eyes popped open and he looked to John, "She was running from him and called us in relief. But who would she run from? She's a trained assassin and a good one, she rarely runs unless. Oh no, that really is no good. And he has," all the while Mycroft and John were so confused as he was talking to himself. The more Sherlock thought about this, the angrier he seemed to get.

Sherlock's thought process took him to believe that Mary was running from a man who could kill her, because she didn't complete her original mission, which was? She got extremely close to John, which meant it had something to do with him. But then who would this man be? Someone powerful, someone who has dirt on her, someone who knows her as her past self and now.

Who was this all leading to? Sherlock had no idea, but whoever it is, could possibly be with Mary this instant. Sherlock admired this person's clever work, _but admiration can wait_, and pulled out his cell and dialed Mary. When she called he could trace the number back to her… _did she do that on purpose? Was he already there and they didn't know? Ah! Curse sentiment, gives you the inability to think properly._

As Sherlock had suspected, it wasn't Mary to answer, instead it was a man he didn't know. "Yes?" he sounded reserved, and a little shy, but he was pretending.

"Is Mary there? I want Mary," Sherlock said in a polite voice.

"Oh, yes," the voice became deeper and hardened, "But she's a bit tied up in some things," he chuckled, this voice recognized Sherlock's and it wasn't vice versa. Dam…

"I hope you know, I will kill you," Sherlock stayed polite as he threatened something he knew he would be able to promise.

"You sound so sure," he teased.

"I am," and he hung up, "Can you do anything with that?" he tossed the phone to Mycroft. He nodded and disappeared as John and Sherlock followed. John was grinning, "What are you so happy about?"

He simply grabbed Sherlock's hand as he grin faded to a huge smile. Sherlock shrugged as John continued silence and they followed Mycroft through a few halls and to what would be a place to dine, but this was full of electronics and such, with a few blokes around, working on some things. _Seems as though this is important. _

John finally spoke, "What exactly is he doing that's so bad? Has he killed someone else besides the man he used to jump?"

"Not yet," Mycroft said as he handed a man the phone and told him to trace the number used recently back to the source. "But, he stole from us as well, and that is why he's being taken to prison, in this time period." He showed no emotions, just stated everything as if this were any other case.

But it wasn't just any other case. This involved Mary, and for that, John was sorry even though she left him, he somehow still loved her, just not as much. Yes, he wished she hadn't left, but she did, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. What was done, is done and won't ever change.

Well, they're about to change a few things, but not critical things of the past, as a matter of fact, they're about to fix time and put it back in its place. John was nervous about going back in time, he thought he might not be able to remember, but Sherlock would be there as well, and he'll surely remember. If Mycroft can do it, Sherlock can do it, he's like that.

The man Mycroft handed the phone to came up with things he had found from the call, and if they hadn't been dealing with the time jump, it would have looked weird that the call was received from 2010. That was actually the year Sherlock and John had met.

It was in St. Mary's church. _Haha, very funny. _So, now what? Guess they make the jump now, huh? _Fantastic…_

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**Just going to keep leaving you hanging... Reviews? **


	7. Six

Six

John was definitely nervous, but as he gripped Sherlock's hand tighter, the relaxed manor of his lover started to relax him as well. but Sherlock himself was hiding his nervousness. Last time he only had been out for five minutes, now it would be an hour, hopefully less but who knew?

Surely after an hour Mycroft would wake get him back no matter what. It still made both of the boys of Baker Street nervous. Sherlock could feel John's pulse on his wrist, and it made him want to hold John and say it'll be okay, but that was later.

Now, they were about to go back in time, kill a killer, rescue Mary and come back. "Remember, if you don't come back within an hour, Anthea and I are coming after you," Mycroft confirmed as the goo was rubbed on Sherlock and John's fingers.

Sherlock nodded in confirmation as the lovers pressed their fingers to one another's foreheads and thought about the moment after they met. That few hours of awkward silence they had alone in the flat after John moved in with Sherlock.

Suddenly they were there, and John couldn't remember a thing.

* * *

John felt strange sitting in his chair. He looked to his new flatmate as he made him stand, "John, can you remember?" John was confused, and Sherlock did what came to his mind first. He kissed his doctor, and slowly but surely the doctor kissed back, remembering their goal.

"Where do we go now?" he asked Sherlock, now remembering he had Mary. Sherlock said nothing as he lead John to the streets, and hailed a cab as he said to St. Mary's church. The cabbie drove off and they settled in the back seat. "I gained a few pounds since we've met," he patted his tummy on his younger self.

"Yes, and I was a little lighter as well. this feels weird," he smiled. John nodded in agreement. John paid as the cab stopped and they jumped out. John could remember the murder that occurred here as they stepped inside the church.

It was beautiful, but this was no time to admire beauty. They had a killer to catch. Sherlock automatically lead them to the basement, where they descended the stair cautiously. Sherlock had never let go of his lover's hand.

The man standing beside Mary was expecting them, of course. "Little late, but that doesn't matter," he hadn't gagged Mary or anything, but John was sure he had enough threats to silence her for life. She was tied up, though.

This man was a little old, maybe forty something, but John didn't doubt his ability to blackmail someone. "So, then who would you be?" John asked as Sherlock was deducing things about the area around them now.

"Charles. Nice to meet you," they eyes under his glasses were a deadly green. Mary's brown eyes were screaming for them to just hurry up and kill this man. She was angry and sad and relieved all at the same time.

John simply gave a to finger salute as Sherlock turned back to Mary and Charles, "So, why have you taken Mary?" he had to ask.

"She failed me, as Jim had." This realization made Sherlock cringe, _so Jim had been working for someone. he just got distracted, as Mary had. See? Sentiment… dangerous game. _

John was surprised that Jim was under this man, "Sorry to say, but I think Moriarty was very much more clever than you'll ever be," John spat. John hated Jim, but he had to admit that Jim was very creative when it came to crime in London.

"That's where you're wrong," Charles tried. "He was clever yes, but obsessed. I don't need pets, and he had one. So did Mary apparently," her eyes widened in anger as she glared up at him and he simply smiled at John.

The soldier rolled his eyes, "Sherlock, can't we just get this over with?" killing someone in a church would be different, but he wanted to go home. He wanted to sleep, eventually…

Sherlock shrugged, "Can we take this conversation to the surface, where I don't feel like a monster hiding in the basement?" he complained. Charles lead the way out to the street where they all breathed in fresh air, "Thank you, much better. Especially for a fun little murder," his voice grew darker as a gun appeared from behind his coat and John had done the same.

John was surprised that Sherlock had remembered the guns, because John hadn't. _Must've slipped it in my trousers without me knowing. That sounded so wrong… _

"You wouldn't dare. Especially with the little blond beauty I have. She will die," he said this all with no emotion, just as if it was a statement.

"You sound so sure," Sherlock said, being polite again. It sounded menacing, but if you were on the receiving end it would sound nice.

"I am. Did you really think I was dumb enough to not have someone there with her at all times?" Sherlock shook his head.

"No, but did you really think I would let John stay to watch you die," Sherlock flicked his curls from his eyes as he had done in the shower, but this was for John to go back to Mary. He sighed and complied.

Surely enough, there was a man beside Mary, but he was masked. John tilted his head in confusion, but the man drew a weapon to Mary's throat, "One more step and I kill her," he warned.

"In a church? That's not very nice, now is it?" great, he sounded like his favorite sociopath now. John took a step closer and the knife was pressed to her neck, drawing a trickle of blood.

"I don't care if God is watching," he sounded as if he really just didn't give a fuck.

"Mmm, then I guess he wouldn't mind if I killed you instead," John drew the gun again and the man did nothing. Mary rolled her eyes, but stayed silent. She herself had a plan now, and if he pressed any further, she would react and it wouldn't be pretty.

John took a step further and he pressed harder and Mary complained, "You know, that really is annoying, John, love, why don't you just get it over with?" her American accent was thick and John regretted his actions as a shot was heard upstairs and his mirrored it.

Mary sighed in relief and John went to work untying her. which was his mistake, because she went reaching for John's gun. He lurched back as she shrugged, "Worth a try," she winked. "So, how was shagging Sherlock Holmes?" she asked as if they were good friends.

"None of your business," he growled, and Sherlock's footsteps were heard on the stairs down, "You okay?" John asked.

"Perfectly fine," he had a smug smile, "I suspect you tried to continue you're work anyway?" he asked the Mary that had now been seized by John. He had a hold of her elbow.

"Why wouldn't I give it a shot? Sounded fun," her eyes were dark as she chuckled and she seemed to be as crazy as the man who was holding her.

"Mm," Sherlock shrugged, "Where did he get the goo from, then? Mycroft must have a mole, by the way, John we should return now. No need to be here anymore," he lead John from the church and Mary trailed because she was dragged by her ex.

John let go, "I would suggest you leave," John smiled and Sherlock called Lestrade. The DI was a little confused at first, because he had no idea about Charles, but he sent a few people to get the body anyway. And people had gathered to see what was going on as Sherlock simply disappeared in the crowd, dragging John behind him as Mary winked and disappeared the opposite direction.

"John?" Sherlock spoke as they neared a quieter place, "Mycroft gave us an hour, correct?" he asked.

"Yes, why-" he cut himself off and Sherlock whirled and caught John's lips with his own. "Don't tell me you want… you're hopeless," and he returned the kiss.

They grabbed a cab and returned home. They had a quick shag because Sherlock was persistent and they did eventually return to Mycroft, awkwardly wanting to just go home and sleep. "I suspect it's been dealt with?" he asked.

Sherlock lead John to the hall, "Yes," he mumbled and they were on the sidewalk, Sherlock trying to find a cab. He finally got one, and they sat silently waiting for someone to say something.

They said nothing as they jumped out at the flat and prepared for a good long sleep that was needed. John was going to have to go to work tomorrow. Ugh, he was so tired.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he passed out and barely felt Sherlock climb in after him. Sherlock snuggled into his lover, and appreciated the fact that he was always here and this will always be the end result of s good case.

A shag and sleep. He loved it and it won't ever stop. Although, everything seemed a little too easy… will they have to deal with some things later on? Who knows, and who cares? He had John and as he fell asleep, he was smiling.

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**The ending was really rushed, but I wanted to finish this so I could write something else. But, reviews?**


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